Just a Janitor in Jakarta by Mike Bozart - HTML preview

A rusted-sheet-metal-clad shanty in Kebon Malati. That was the slum where twenty-year-old Angkasa and her mom, who now worked as a day maid for a wealthy family, and younger brother lived in central Jakarta. Her father’s tragically cruel, lightning-strike death while harvesting coffee beans in East Java nineteen months prior precipitated the family’s move to Indonesia’s massive capital for income replacement. They joined the throngs of poor rural families who, via the inducement of employment, even if for meager wages, migrate to the burgeoning Southeast Asia metropolis.

On an archetypical, equatorial-sauna, hot-flat-yellow-sun-disk-beginning-to-rapidly-dive, late Wednesday afternoon (5:02 PM on August 24, 2016), Angkasa began walking to work down a paver-stoned service alley. She soon came to a sidewalk-less, curb-less, asphalt street (Jl. Tenaga Listrik) and turned left. She looked to her right over a mound of trash that was propped against a meter-high (39”) floodwall. A sediment-laden, tempeh-brown, polluted-with-plastics Ciliwung River was barely moving. Angkasa then glanced up at the skyscrapers looming ahead. She mused. Two distinctly different worlds so close together: lavish prosperity and extreme poverty. Wonder if one of those richies [sic] could make it through a single week down here. Or, a single night. I’m sure that they would freak out to live like we have to. Do they view us as an inferior subspecies? Lesser humans? Because we’re less sly? Hmmm … I wonder. Maybe just negative thinking. Need to stop it. Papa constantly said that nothing positive comes from negativity.

She passed an odd assortment of vendors in makeshift, blue-tarpaulin-covered booths. Then she paused to read the headline of a local newspaper: Sulawesi governor named suspect for bribery. Graft and corruption. Papa always told me that it is what holds our country back. Gosh, I miss him so much. Why did he have to die from such a freak act of nature? Why?! What are the odds of that happening? Probably better odds for winning the TOTO. [Singapore’s lottery] God, what did our family do wrong? None of us ever wronged anyone. He was a good man. Why can’t I be in college like Farah? [a friend] She’ll have a good job in a year with a nice salary. Oh, this life – it’s just not fair.

Angkasa then passed an improvised, river-spanning, lumber-strewn-about footbridge. She noticed that someone had installed a galvanized metal gate. Guess the local gang leader will soon be collecting a toll. Or, the government will demolish it. Sometimes I think that they would love to demolish us. Just bulldoze us into the river, and have us flushed out to sea during the next typhoon. But, who would do the dirty work for crumbs? Certainly not any of their family members. That’s the only reason they allow us to stay: They need us. Well, until the robots are advanced enough to do the work.

Just after passing a second footbridge, one that was made of concrete and looked official, Angkasa saw a flash of pixelated colors in the shape of a phantom just off to her right. She had seen this before, and had no idea what it was, or what it meant, or when it would appear again. Is there something wrong with my right eye? Is a cataract forming? Or, is it my brain? Am I about to have a seizure or a stroke? Oh, dear God, I hope not. Please, no.

Figure 1: Angkasa's pixelated phantom

She quickly stepped off the pavement to make way for a pack of motorcycles. The phantom-flash suddenly occurred again. Does this mean that this day is special? Is it an omen of imminent disaster? Or, is it a propitious portent? I hope it’s the latter, but I never have any luck.

As Angkasa passed a strand of hemp-rope-supported, earth-floor tents, she noticed that the pixelated blob was following her, just behind her right shoulder. Looking straight ahead, she caught it out of the corner of her right eye. It was unnerving to say the least. I’m going mad. I’m hallucinating! Why is this happening to me? Why?!

When she turned her head 90 degrees to the right to view the gate at the start of the third footbridge, which was made of wooden timbers like the first one but in a much more orderly fashion, the pixelated zone was like a holographic troll. Ketut [a male classmate from high school] said that there may be adjacent worlds that sometimes intersect with ours. Maybe that is an interface that he so often spoke about. Should I try to touch it? No, that would look weird. The passersby would think that I’m crazy. It’s obvious that I’m the only one who can see it; everyone else is proceeding along their merry way, completely oblivious to it.

The next roadside distraction was an abandoned, dull-as-lead-gray, Polsex Patroli-stencilled hatchback sedan. It had been spray-painted with graffiti and the front windows and windshield had been broken out. The wheels were half-buried in the soft earth. It looked like a monument to something – something unforeseen. Sure would be nice to have a car someday. Though, this 20-minute walk is good exercise. But, the walk back at night is dangerous. I’m gambling with my life at two AM. Should probably start taking the bus. But, it still leaves a walk down this dicey street. Wonder what happened to this car. What part broke? Probably an expensive part like the engine or the transmission. I bet that’s why it was left for the scavengers.

After passing stacks of used tires and a steel-bar cage of old motorbikes, Angkasa saw the Polisi (Police) sign with the funny, cartoon-like figure. This police precinct keeps the wolves at bay. If it wasn’t here I bet that I would’ve been picked off by now.

She then turned right onto a sidewalk next to a busy boulevard (Jl. K. H. Mas Mansyur) and crossed the until-the-next-deluge-contentedly-lazy-and-bored-to-evaporative-tears Ciliwung River. At the next street intersection (Jl. Penjernihan 1), she walked under a large, steel-girder overpass and continued southeastward along the riverside. Three tall skyscrapers were just off to her right. The one in which Angkasa worked was just eight minutes away; she was 60% of the way there. And the pixel monster was no more. So glad that whatever-it-was is gone. Maybe it has to do with my right eye. Guess I should see an optometrist. Don’t really have the time. Or the money.

Soon she saw the low-profile, blue sign for Wisma 46 Parking. A mid-20-something, male, a-bit-flirty acquaintance in the parking booth let her pass through. This saved her two more minutes of walking. She waved as she passed the glass-enclosed kiosk. I bet that he wants to pump me. Yeah, it’s obvious. He’s cute, but I bet that he’s a player. I wouldn’t be his only girlfriend.

Once in the employee check-in section of the 51-story, 860-foot-tall (262 meters), ultra-modern, fountain-pen-spired tower, Angkasa donned her fuchsia-top-with-black-pants custodial uniform. Once out of the female locker room, her boss, a mid-40-ish, thin-mustachioed, goateed Indonesian man, announced the floor assignments. She got stories 44 through 47. She sighed. Oh well, another night in the high-rise of low pay. At least I have a job. Should be thankful. Could be worse. Wish Bagus [her 18-year-old brother] would get one. Lazy ass.

She cleaned the 44^th floor in near-record time, as all of the offices were vacant, and they weren’t too messed-up during the midweek (unlike on Mondays). Usually by 7:30 most every office was vacated of all personnel. However, there would always be a few after-hours stragglers. Such was the case on the 45^th floor at 8:53 PM.

As Angkasa passed a slightly-cracked-open, mahogany, conference-room door, she slowed her cart to a stop. Out of view, she overheard three middle-aged businessmen talking very excitedly. They sure are in a jovial mood.

The Indonesian: “A million USD [United States Dollars] in just a few clandestine keystrokes. You would like that, right? Is that ok, guys?”

The American: “You better believe I’d like that, Ahmad. Where do I invisibly sign?” [starts laughing]

The Englishman: “In light of the recent passage of the Brexit referendum, I’ll gladly take those greenbacks. But, are you sure this digital sleight won’t be traceable? Won’t an internal audit catch it, Ahmad? I’d rather not die in a Nusa Kambangan prison. I hear that the food is awful.”

Ahmad: “Our man in IR [Internal Review] is in on it, too, Peter. He will just move the numerals from column 1(a) to row ZZZ, and then to a back-page, all-asterisked ledger. The money will be convolutedly linked to a zillion other spreadsheets. Not all investments are instant winners; some are time-deferred losers, if you know what I mean.”

The American: “It will look like a loss – not a theft. Is that it?”

Ahmad: “Bill, for a glib American, you learn fast.”

[loud guffawing by Bill]

Peter: “Hey, I think that cleaning lady in the hallway may have heard us, Ahmad.”

Ahmad: “She’s just a janitor – just another janitor in Jakarta. She’s probably from some retarded backwater and only knows two words of English: yes and no. Relax, mate. We got this. No need to fret.”

Bill: “I’m headed straight to [Las] Vegas with it. I’m going to double it, maybe even triple it. Watch me.”

Peter: “Oh, dear. Please don’t come to me for an emergency loan next week, Bill.”

[riotous chortling by all three]

Angkasa slowly moved along with her head down. She pushed her cart into the empty service-elevator cab and went up to the next floor. The first office that she began to feather-dust had a view to the northwest. It was dark now. However, due to the sporadic streetlamps, she could see the hodge-podge of drab-maroon and ash-gray roofs that marked her impoverished enclave. Maybe we can escape someday and return to Jember. Bagus really needs to get a job. Just me and mom working won’t ever be enough to get all three of us back home.

She then exited that 46^th-floor office and made her way to the next one. Its door was wide-open.

“Hello there,” a mid-to-late-30-ish Caucasian man said before she could speak.

“Oh, hi, sir,” Angkasa meekly uttered. “Do you want your office cleaned tonight?”

“No, I think it’s ok tonight,” the light-brown-haired man answered. “I didn’t eat in it today.” He then laughed for a few seconds. “Say, am I the only one still in their office?”

“The only one I’ve noticed on this floor, sir,” Angkasa replied. “Though on the 45^th floor, there were three men in the conference room.”

“Is that so?” the man probed.

“Yes, they were talking about making a million dollars each,” Angkasa divulged. “I overheard some of their discussion. Their plan sounded devious – perhaps fraudulent, sir.”

“What’s your name?” the hazel-eyed man asked, still seated in his desk chair. Yikes!

“Angkasa.”

“Angkasa, thanks so much for that tidbit of information.”

“You’re welcome, sir.”

“I’ve been monitoring them. Your suspicions are correct: They’re up to no good, and they are all in for a big surprise.”

“What is your name if I may be so bold to ask?”

“Daan. I’m from the Netherlands.”

“Indonesia has a long history with the Dutch,” Angkasa stated. She’s had some education.

“Yes, and it’s not all so good, I’m sad to say. I’m glad your country got their just-deserved independence. Angkasa, who are you?” What a bold question.

“Me – I’m just a janitor in Jakarta, sir. I’m no one special.” So sad to hear her say that.

“You’re wrong, Angkasa. I’m a very observant fellow; I’m paid to be. However, I’ve observed more than just that nefarious trio a floor below. I’ve noticed how well you clean my office. You are meticulous. I know when it was your night the next morning, because the other young lady never wipes the windows properly. There are always streaks and lots of glass-cleaner residue on the sills. When you clean this office, it is immaculate.”

“Why, thank you, sir. I try to do my best.”

“Do you work tomorrow night?”

“I do, sir,” Angkasa stated, now unsure of where this was going. There’s a ring on his finger. Does he want to cheat on his wife and have sex with me? Oh, no!

“Angkasa, always continue to dust the inside of the file shelving back here,” Daan said as he pointed it out. “Details matter. And you never know – something might be there for you very soon.” Huh? What’s he talking about?

“Ok, I will, sir. Goodnight.”

Daan smiled and then refocused on his computer screen. She’s a good one. She deserves a lift up.

Angkasa finished her slate of offices earlier than normal. She then began helping another female janitor on the 31^st floor.

At a muggy-and-slightly-foggy 1:39 AM, Angkasa began walking home. Along the way she wondered about Daan’s cryptic statement, but couldn’t decipher it. She made it safely to her narrow bed.

The next evening in Wisma 46, after noticing that the 45^th-floor conference room was strangely vacant, Angkasa stopped by Daan’s office. The door was locked. However, she had a master set of keys that opened all of the office doors. She immediately walked over to the open-face chest of file shelves. There was an envelope with her name on it.

“YES!”